Chapter Twenty-Four Chloe
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chloe
Chloe fought a laugh as they made their way back from the factory on Sunday. Aletta walked close behind, and when Chloe glanced at her she saw the smirk on her face, too, for Aletta clearly understood French.
‘What’s so funny?’ Emma asked.
‘The French girls are singing a song they made up about the guards,’ Chloe whispered. ‘They’re calling it their opera, and they say they’re going to perform it once we leave this place.’
She noticed the way Aletta smiled; it was almost like it hurt.
Her lips were cracked, and her eyes looked pained, but she’d refused to let them help her, insisting she could make the walk herself without their assistance.
The extra bits of food had helped, despite the Aufseherin exploding when she’d found Aletta sleeping instead of working for the first two days at the new barracks.
Even the guard hadn’t been brave enough to go against Herr Weber’s orders.
‘Are you all right?’ Chloe asked. ‘And tell me the truth, you have nothing to hide from me.’
‘I’m fine, truly I am. Just hungry and tired, like always.’
Chloe nodded, glancing back at Emma who still looked concerned, even though there was little either of them could do about it.
‘You know, I heard that one of the girls went to the doctor last week with diarrhoea, and she was given mashed potato,’ Emma whispered from behind. ‘Maybe if we all pretend to have dysentery, they’ll let us have some food.’
Chloe almost closed her eyes at the thought of mashed potato – food was all most of them talked about or thought about in the camp. It was also why so many of the women wanted Chloe to record their favourite recipes – all they wanted was the chance to cook something for their families again.
‘Maybe in time we can tell Herr Weber about the children down here. Maybe he’ll help us with some extra food for them, too,’ Chloe said. She was inclined not to push her luck, but she also knew that if she hadn’t been brave enough to speak up, Aletta might not be walking beside her today.
‘Maybe.’ Aletta’s voice was quiet; too quiet.
‘Aletta?’ Chloe didn’t like the look on her face, or the way she was swaying as she walked. ‘Aletta, what’s wrong?’
‘I don’t feel so well again.’
Emma stepped closer and pressed a hand to her back, keeping her upright.
Chloe had seen plenty of sadness in her time at Ravensbrück.
She’d witnessed death and illness, but she’d never lost anyone she loved in the camp.
Seeing Aletta look like this made her think that she had been right to stay away from the other inmates.
But there was nothing she could do now, no distance she could create, because she already loved her like a sister.
‘I’m just cold,’ Aletta mumbled. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
Chloe pursed her lips and kept a tight grip on Aletta’s arm. They were all wearing woollen jumpers now and thick socks, but it wasn’t enough for her too-thin friend while she was so unwell.
Chloe steeled herself, knowing what she needed to do.
Once they got back to the main camp, she’d have time to find the Czechs and beg for something else for Aletta to wear.
These women owed Aletta for everything she was doing for their children – the least they could do was find her another pair of wool socks and a warm hat, perhaps even a coat.
The food they’d secretly saved for the children to have at their lesson would be a good bargaining chip, too.
‘I can’t stop thinking about the little girl I saw when we were coming up here,’ Aletta said as they walked. ‘I know I had a fever, and I might have been imagining it, but I was so sure it was Else.’
‘Well,’ said Chloe, ‘if it was her, you’ll be sure to come across her. Maybe it was?’
She swapped glances with Emma, who didn’t look convinced, but Chloe wasn’t about to say anything to the contrary. And who knew? Maybe the little Jewish girl was at the camp.
The weeks at Ravensbrück all rolled together, day after gruelling day feeling no different from the one before, except for Sundays, which had become Chloe’s favourite day.
Once she’d dreaded the final day of the week, because they were forced to clean and do other menial jobs around the camp, locked outside no matter what the weather, but now Aletta was also teaching the children.
And somehow Aletta had convinced her and Emma to teach, too, insisting that she could no longer do the job on her own, so they could divide the children into age groups.
So many more children had arrived over the past month.
‘Chloe, you’re taking the older ones. We’ll split up and sit behind the barracks,’ Aletta said, directing her to the group of mainly girls who were eleven or twelve.
‘I thought you could try to think of books you’ve read to discuss, and maybe talk about writing with them.
’ She gave her a little smile. ‘But only if that’s something you feel comfortable with. ’
Chloe looked up at Aletta, the words catching in her throat. ‘I thought I might talk about poetry,’ she said.
Aletta’s smile widened. ‘That’s perfect, Chloe.’
‘I haven’t written a poem since, well, before everything, but I want to share poetry with them. Maybe if I’d kept writing, I wouldn’t have kept everything so bottled up inside.’
Aletta touched her arm. ‘Then you teach them about poetry. I love it.’
‘I just wish I could write home. Just one letter to let my family know I’m alive,’ Chloe said. ‘If I had the chance, I’d write my little brother a poem, so he knew it was me. One he loved when I used to read from my notebook to him.’
Aletta hugged her. ‘I wish you could write to them, too.’
Chloe took a big breath as Aletta stepped away, telling her she was fine and that they needed to get on with what they were there to do. But she listened as Aletta told her mother to take the middle band of children, instructing her to have them practise maths and finish by telling them a story.
‘And I shall take the little ones and continue to teach them their letters––’ Aletta gasped.
‘What—’ Chloe started.
‘Else!’ Aletta cried, dropping to her knees beside Chloe as a little girl with the biggest, bluest eyes Chloe had ever seen stood blinking back at her. ‘I can’t believe it! I was so certain I saw you weeks ago, but then I never saw you again!’
Chloe laughed. She actually laughed, because the only alternative would have been to cry. She’d thought Aletta had hallucinated her former pupil when she’d been feverish, but clearly she should never have doubted her.
‘So this is your little Else, huh?’ she asked, watching as Aletta seemed to examine every inch of her. She’d never seen her friend so happy.
‘Who are you here with, Else?’ Aletta asked. ‘Are your family . . .’
‘My aunt and my sister,’ Else said, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Well, I look forward to meeting them,’ Aletta said, giving a little cough that did nothing to disguise the emotion in her voice. ‘It’s so good to have you back in my class.’
Chloe placed a hand on Aletta’s shoulder, waiting for her friend to sit down with the youngest children before she faced the group waiting for her. Some of them looked unsure, with big eyes, arms wrapped tightly around themselves, but some were more curious and took a step towards her.
‘Well, I suppose you should all follow me,’ she said. ‘My name is Chloe, and I’m going to do my best to teach you each Sunday. I’m Aletta’s friend, so that means you’re in very good hands, I promise.’
There were a few hellos and a handful of smiles, and Chloe sat down and beckoned for them to sit around her.
Even though she felt completely out of her depth, there was something about being surrounded by younger people that made her want to fight, to stay alive, to do anything she could to make their lives a little better in the short time she had with them.
‘What do you teach?’ one of the boys asked.
Chloe tried not to think about how much longer he would have at the camp as she turned and smiled at him.
‘Well, I’ve never actually taught anyone before, but today I thought we’d talk about poetry and maybe books.
We don’t have paper to use, so maybe we could all share some favourites that we remember, and try to compose something of our own? ’
One of the girls looked particularly excited, her smile lighting up her face. ‘I love poetry.’
Chloe smiled, even though she wanted to cry. ‘So do I.’
‘Are you the lady who takes down the recipes?’ one of the girls asked.
That question almost broke her, especially the innocent way it was asked.
‘Yes, I do. But we must be very careful not to speak of that in front of the guards. I keep those recipes and memories for safekeeping, for many of the women here.’
‘Can you share them with us?’ a boy asked. ‘I’m so hungry, I’d like to listen to them.’
‘One day I will share some of them with you,’ she replied, trying not to see her brother in the bright-eyed boy. ‘But today, we’re going to talk about poetry.’
The children continued to look at her expectantly, and she took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. She could wallow in her memories later, when she was alone, when so many young minds weren’t depending on her.
‘Would anyone like to go first?’ she asked.
They just blinked back at her, suddenly silent, and Chloe knew that she was going to have to share part of herself, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.
‘Perhaps I could share a poem I wrote for my little brother one day, although I might not remember it perfectly.’
Chloe cleared her throat, ignoring the dampness in her eyes as she tried not to think of home, of the last time she’d whispered the little verse. The night she’d put Adrian to bed, in the hours before everything had changed.
‘Feathers brown, soft and damp, the little bird searches. Beak full, stealing sticks, the little bird perches.’ Chloe stopped then, her voice catching, the rest of the poem slipping from her mind.
She quickly cleared her throat, unable to continue on.
‘Sorry, I, well, it seems I can’t remember it as well as I thought.
But perhaps you could all come up with some more lines for me? ’
‘Are poems always supposed to rhyme?’ asked a girl.
Chloe smiled and nodded. ‘Well yes, it is nice to have rhyme, it makes it easier to listen to, but it doesn’t have to.’
‘Do you mean it doesn’t have to rhyme if I like the way the words sound together?’
The innocence of her question, the way she was looking at Chloe with such trust, almost broke her. But instead of letting it, she lifted her hand and touched the girl’s shoulder, smiling as she looked her directly in the eye.
‘If you like the way the words sound together, then it’s a poem. That’s the beautiful thing about poetry, it can be anything you want it to be.’
Chloe felt new eyes upon her and she looked over to see Aletta watching her. Aletta’s mouth turned up at the corners, and Chloe knew that she’d done the right thing in helping. And she could see just how much it meant to Aletta to meet the little girl Else.
Chloe’s heart was open to breaking now, and it hurt just looking at the beautiful children around them and knowing how few of them might survive this hellish place, but at least she was trying instead of hiding away on her own. At least she was doing something.
Maybe she’d been wrong to close herself off in the beginning. Perhaps it was better to care and to love – and then lose – rather than be alone.
All she knew was it felt good in that moment to feel needed and wanted, to have something other than sadness and misery surround her.
She glanced over at Emma, watching as the children smiled at her, and the last edge of hardness around her heart, the iron-clad hold that had held her in its grip for so long, finally began to melt.
Because something was humming between them all. They might all be beaten, but today had proven to Chloe that they most definitely were not broken.
No one can break us, not so long as we’re still breathing.
These children were the bond connecting her to so many other women; to Emma and to Aletta; and the only thing she’d look forward to more than teaching them again was seeing their faces light up once they gave them the extra rations from the factory.